Watching the motorway
from the cafe'.
resting my feet of clay.
Under a sky of clouds,
that some may say,
have silver linings.
But all I can see is the grey.

Leaves twist to my flute's tune.
Gentle waves of breeze hit my cheeks
as I sit on damp grass--its smell fills me.

Grey clouds, perched atop
rocky mountain peaks, bid the sky goodbye,
yet the sun has not yet come around.

Fearless, yet with caution,
a deer sips from the lake's crystal clear water.
Turns to me with sullen eyes;
tears dripping down its cheeks like rain.

My heart throbs as it sits next to me.
It, too, watches the lake with a dreary soul.
A distant waterfall murmurs whispers of hope for us both
as we await the sun's faraway arrival.

I used to know every soft crack in her hand
and how I loved coating each one
with the skin from mine.
I would rest on her warmth
and think about how I never wanted to leave that vacation.

As the suns turned to moons, summer turned to winter
and winter couldn’t look back.

It dried her skin and calloused mine.
I would reach for her hand but
it gripped like a stranger with a hidden agenda.

Winter eventually turned back to summer but
summer was someone else.

I’m with a new hand now
who’s soft cracks attempt to fill my gaps. But
instead of giving her my skin,
I leave sand in between us
from last year’s vacation I never wanted to leave.

The air your lips used to warm
as you'd breathe into mine,
has become too cold
from the space
you left between us.


Now,
I warm my own air
with flames
set from the peelings
of a burning heart
you threw away
in a rusted can.


I don't remember winter ever being so cold.

it's been a long time since i wrote;
on notebooks i have words and some
cursive letters --
as i try to figure out the font of my name--
but i never truly write.

i kept staring at the walls and, somehow,
the room shrunk,
but i told myself i was okay.
even with this much space i could never suffocate.
i'm too scared to think about death.
then the walls keep staring back at me,
and the starry lights make me
starry-eyed,
starry-mind;
lost in dreams
of things
again.

i get so lost in thought of life
that i forget to start living mine.

I am hearing it
winter’s freeze
the tightening of air
water light
a noisy gang of clouds
Snowflakes are feathered stones

In the field
this day builds its frozen bones
A beautiful disaster forms

Submerged in it
I listen for birds  
There is nothing

A moment’s wind
brittles my breath
numbs my ears
I listen for a note
There is nothing

A hush of sleep
tucks into January’s bed
Even the dogs stay inside
to refuse the ice jabs
into their paws

The cold cracks the skin
of my hands
sharpens its blade
slices deeper

At the edge of the field
I stand in stillness
an ice-covered statue
waiting for the company of pigeons

____________

©dah / dahlusion 2014
all rights reserved

"January" was first published in 'The Canon's Mouth' (UK)

Editor: Greg ***